Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.
Now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.
In youth I sought the gold flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold.
— G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
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